Another Continuation of  A Man Alone
by messyhead
Summary: This is a sequel to a great story called A Man Alone by the Lurker way back on the first of these pages. I wrote this months ago and I'm reposting now because I accidentally deleted it! Thanks NeesiePie, Bionic4Ever & weavingdreams for support!


As we drive through Washington, I glance at Oscar in the passenger seat. He stares straight ahead, looking tired and haunted. I squeeze his shoulder companionably and smile, hoping to reassure him. He gives me the same in return, attempting to convince me he's all right. So typical.

My heart aches at what I have seen in him tonight. For years I – and everyone else for that matter – have marveled at his dedication, his sacrifice of every shred of his personal life to the OSI. Though he maintains a brilliant front, I have started to see the cracks. He has lost his lightness of spirit. He is quicker to anger. His sense of humor is still there but it is becoming more and more dark and cynical. Tonight is the first time I have ever seen him truly break down. What was it about? Probably the specifics don't even really matter – his life seems unimaginably cold to me. Not even Oscar Goldman could thrive in that environment forever.

I fight down my nerves. I have been given an opening – there is a real sense of intimacy between us right now - but should I really take it? For the hundredth time or so I lecture myself - _You do not want him. He's a secretive, emotionally repressed, middle-aged, workaholic bureaucrat, who probably can't even give you what you want from him anyway. Keep it to yourself. You'll get over it. Just be his friend. Just be kind._

Meanwhile my heart says something entirely different. It tells me to take him in my arms and keep him there, to protect him from loneliness and emptiness and perhaps I will find the man I love - who day by day is disappearing before my eyes – a warm, kind man - who loves me too. I've seen it in his eyes so often, before he catches himself, straightens up, and withdraws.

It took Callahan to point it out to me about two years ago. I had always taken Oscar for granted, I suppose. Callahan and I were catching up over dinner at a local seafood place, and I said something innocuous like "Oscar seems to be a in a good mood." to which she rolled her eyes and said,

"Of course he's in a good mood. You're here."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She looked at me incredulously. "You don't _know_?! Jaime, he's in love with you or I'm a monkey's uncle."

"He is not!" I protested, embarrassed.

"Oh for heaven's sake", Callahan persisted. "I see him day in and day out – when you're here and when you're not here. It's a controlled experiment. He gets giddy when you're around. I know that's a strong word to use for a guy like Oscar, but he does. He's completely gone on you. Trust me."

"But what about that father/daughter thing he says…?" I stuttered. She just shook her head and looked at me pityingly. Apparently I was guilty of incredible naivety.

From that moment I couldn't help but see him differently. I worried I might become uncomfortable with him, but instead I found myself warming to the softness in his eyes when he looked at me, the intimate tone of his voice, and the slightly lingering kisses on the cheek when we met. Before I knew it I was finding excuses to see him, my heart skipping in his presence.

I also realized that he would never act on his feelings. So. I've sat it out for two years, hoping I would just get over it. But I haven't.

"You can't save people. They have to do it themselves." I can hear Helen saying.

Do I want to save him? I guess so. Will he even let me try? I wince at the thought of him rejecting me.

"Are you okay?" he asks, startling me from my thoughts.

"Mm-hmm." I reply lightly. "Just an eyelash in my eye." I say, blinking in an exaggerated manner, " And would you mind? You're the one we're worrying about tonight."

If I am going to get past his long line of defenses, I will have to make a strong appeal to his heart, soul, and body, and hope that his brain doesn't kick in. It's not a well developed plan of action, but it's the only one I've got.

We pull up to his apartment building. I throw the car into park, pull out the keys, and say confidently, "I'm going to see you in."

He smiles at me. "That's sweet of you."

He doesn't want to be alone. I hook my arm in his and we walk in. As the elevator lumbers to the top floor he leans his tall frame into me slightly. By the time we arrive at his apartment and he unlocks the door I am shaky. It's now or never – and I think I prefer now to never. We enter his dim entranceway. He locks the door and turns back to me… and I think he's asking me if I would like a drink, but I can barely hear him over my own heart.

"Oscar," I blurt, "there's something I need to tell you…" I'm sure I look incredibly tense.

"What is it, Babe?" he says stepping closer, and I can just read the concern on his face in the dark. I take a deep breath, place my hands on his ribcage, and look into his dark eyes. I feel his hands on my waist. I run my hands up his chest, over his shoulders and around his neck. "I just needed to tell you that…" His look is uncomprehending, but his hands are moving around to my back. I can already feel the heat rising between us. I stand on my tiptoes and nuzzle my face to his, feeling stubble against my cheek. I hope I can still put a sentence together. I stammer, "I seem to have…I…I'm in love with you, Oscar."

He exhales sharply. I feel his warm breath on my face.

"Oh Jaime…" he whispers. He pulls my body tight to his own. Our mouths hover close for a moment and then he kisses me intensely - like a man lost in the desert would drink water.

Suddenly, he has pulled away from me, and is holding me at arm's length - the way you'd hold a weapon that really frightened you. We are both breathing hard and I feel dizzy. He looks like he's in pain.

"We can't do this..." he gasps, "I'm sorry."

That wince hits me - exactly what I feared. We stand and stare at each other not knowing what can possibly come next. I break the silence. "Do you want me to go?" I ask quietly.

"No, no. God no!" His head drops. "I'm so confused."

"I'm sorry Oscar. I didn't want to increase your burdens."

He lifts his head and looks hard at me. "You're apologizing? You tell me you love me and you're apologizing? I ought to fall to my knees and thank you." There is something like anger in his voice. "And if I hadn't chosen this…this… so-called _life_ and if I weren't such a hidebound _idiot_ I'd be making love to you instead of standing here thinking of all the reasons not to!"

"Come on honey, take it easy." I say gently. "Will you come and sit down and talk to me?" I pull him to the couch in the living room, where he throws himself down some distance away from me. His jaw is clenched.

"I think I know what you're going to say," I prompt, sounding more resigned than I intended, "but we'd better get it out anyway."

Maybe he really just can't let go. My stomach turns a little. After this it could be really hard to go back to our old (frustrating) habits of leisurely lunches and long chats in the office.

"So what am I going to say?" I can see him struggling to regain his composure. His hands grip his knees.

I ignore the question and instead blurt out the words that have been foremost in my mind for months now. I too am angry, now that I think of it. "You can't go on this way. And you shouldn't _have_ to." I try to push the quaver out of my voice. "With me or without me, something in your life has got to give. I mean, what's the plan, Oscar? Are you just going to keep going, day in, day out, until you drop dead in your office of a heart attack? Or cancer? Alone? Just you and all those silences and secrets?"

"I know." He sighs.

"It's time to change. I just can't watch you live this way anymore."

He looks at me, his eyes black. Then he shakes his head slightly.

"Old dogs, Jaime."

"Damn it, you're _not_ an old dog. You just have this insane capacity for self denial. It's like you're doing penance or something." It is such a relief to speak frankly. "What drives me crazy is that you'll bend all the rules to help your friends, but when it comes to you everything has to be by the absolute letter of the law!

He sighs and looks away again. "Jaime, twenty years ago I realized I could not and would not ask a woman to share my life. It's impossible. So, yes, I made it a rule." He pauses. "And the three times I've broken that rule it has been with … unfortunate results."

I've never heard this before. _More secrets._ I feel a little flare of jealousy. "Who were they?" I ask, trying to sound neutral. "What happened?"

"Ugh." he screws his face up. "I don't even like to think about it." He braces himself and continues. "The first was a classic - a Russian undercover agent. I thought she was from Iowa. That was embarrassing. Fortunately I figured it out before any real damage was done. The next one left me after a kidnapping attempt - can't say I blame her. And the third one – well, I just irritated her away. Too many meetings, late nights at the office, broken dates, you know..."

"And were any of these women bionic security level 6 agents, who've been your close friend for most of a decade?"

"I'd have to say that no, they weren't." He manages a tiny smile, which quickly fades. "But even so, if you and I were together," he says, as though explaining it for the thousandth time, "it's like a double jackpot for anyone who wants to get to me, or you, or both of us. There are a fair number of people who are on our own side who would love to take advantage of a situation like that…"

"It's a risk, I know. But we're used to risk. Do you really think it would be that much worse than all the things we've been through already?"

"Jaime, I cannot appear to have vulnerability." He knows the script by rote.

"The irony here is that if they knew you at all they'd kidnap the fourth floor janitor and you'd enter negotiations and marshal all the forces of the OSI to get him back again." I hope he will smile, but instead he looks even more serious.

"I wish that were true." He murmurs. "I seem to have nothing but regrets these days." His eyes flick to me.

_All those secrets._ Who knows what he's done, really? But then what thoughtful person doesn't have regrets – even in a job with far lower stakes than Oscar's? I can only trust my strong sense of his decency.

"Anyway, the Secretary…" he sighs. "I'm your boss." I can almost see the internal battle he's having. He looks downright uncomfortable. "Apart from how it looks within the organization, I'd be accused of all kinds of things – loss of objectivity, favoritism, acting on emotions rather than reason…"

"All of which you're doing already anyway…" I interrupt. He looks injured. "Oscar. Twenty-five years of perfect service to your country has to be worth something. A relationship with someone like me is hardly the worst breach of protocol I've ever heard of. You know, I honestly think you're far more powerful and influential than you think you are. You're a one of a kind and everyone knows it."

"Maybe. I honestly don't know." I see his mind turning over towards the next problem. He finally turns to me, and leans a little closer. "Jaime, I would die if I caused something to happen to you…"

I resist the urge to stroke his face. "Chicken." I say softly. He looks taken aback. "I can take care of myself. And I can take care of you too. Better than you can, in fact." I pause. Am I really convincing him with a barrage of arguments? Nothing to lose now, I guess..."I'm taking a pretty big risk on you too, you know - you with the big bull's-eye painted on your forehead. But I'm willing to try…because I have the feeling that the benefits would be…" I hold his gaze, "…incredible."

"Yeah..." he breathes, gazing at me wistfully. "You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?"

I shake my head. "No way."

He rubs his hand hard against his forehead. "Well what about the fact that I'm way too old for you?" he says, warming to his argument again.

I shrug. "We're two consenting adults. At least one of us is consenting…" I smile.

He bites his lip, and looks at the ceiling. "What about Steve?" he asks.

"Steve?!" I look at him incredulously. "Would you give that one up once and for all? You and Rudy are like a couple of maiden aunts who are just dying for a family wedding. To tell you the truth, kissing Steve is like kissing a brother. He practically _is_ my brother. Besides, he and I settled all that a long time ago."

"And you're sure that kissing me isn't like kissing…an aunt?"

"I don't know what your relatives get up to, Goldman," I giggle, "but my aunts have _never _ pulled a stunt like that on me." We both laugh, and some of the tension I've been holding in my stomach eases.

"Hmm." He says, still smiling, looking at the floor. I take a deep breath and remind myself that it is his training and his nature to look for problems and pitfalls, but he is driving me to distraction. I yearn to close the space between us, but if it's going to happen, I have to let him do it.

"Have you ever seen that giant storehouse we have at the OSI – the one where we put dead media?" he asks, finally.

I shake my head, wondering where this is going.

"Well it's full – we're going to have to expand. It's full of filing cabinets, huge ancient computers, punch cards, ticker tapes, reel to reel tapes, all stacked up to the ceiling. We can't throw any of it out because we just might need some tiny bit of information stored on one of those punch cards, so it stays in there – outmoded and almost useless – but not quite." He looks at me searchingly. "I feel like that's what the inside of my head looks like. Everything in there is classified. It's completely unpeopled - just classified junk and dust everywhere. And some pretty dark corners."

"Oscar…" I begin, ready to defend him against himself.

"You - " he interrupts me "you are the light under the door. A beautiful clear light – but if I open that door, how could I possibly ask you in? Why would you _want_ to come in?"

"Honey, you have to step out. I'm here." I open my arms. He can't quite help himself and moves toward me a little. I rest my hands on his neck. I feel his pulse in my palm.

"But Jaime, it's _who I am_."

"I know who you are. At least as well as anyone does … and you know who I am, …" I pause, hoping he will understand what I am about to say, "and _what_ I am."

He gazes steadily at me, recognition dawning. He finally sees my own vulnerability. It's not about procedural problems, security issues and age differences. It is about trust, the secrets we share, the years of seeing each other through painful and dangerous experiences, the longstanding bond between us, and something else - something that has been hidden under the surface for too long.

His face has changed again. I see no more resistance – just an open expression of love. He slides his arms around me, and with a delicious confidence, pulls me onto his lap.

Articulating every word carefully, he says "Babe, you are not a _what_." He very deliberately takes my right hand – my bionic hand - and lingeringly kisses the palm. I could swear the skin tingles under his lips. He continues upward, kissing the length of my arm to the nape of my neck.

I am in bliss. I savor the feel of his back under my hands. "This is going to sound ridiculous – but I feel safe with you."

He kisses my earlobe and whispers, "I'd do anything for you Jaime. I'd even break a rule or two." He kisses my eyelids, my forehead. "You knew I couldn't hold out on you, didn't you?"

"Actually," I breathe, "you had me pretty worried."

"Sorry." He smiles, "I had to try..." He kisses the corner of my mouth. "I've loved you for so long…"

Our lips meet, then our tongues, and we kiss hard and long. He feels and tastes so good, so absolutely right. His breath, like mine, is heavy and uneven. He shudders and holds me tighter. To feel such raw passion from this tightly controlled man is intoxicating.

Taking a deep breath he pulls back and says "Let's see if I can do this gracefully." He shifts us both toward the edge of the couch and, with a little grimace, rises to his feet, holding me in his arms.

"Impressive." I whisper, smiling. (I weigh more than your average girl, with all those bionic parts.) He raises his eyebrows and carries me to the bedroom.

We unwrap each other slowly and tenderly, exploring one other with infinite care, savoring each touch, each heartbeat, each kiss, finally giving over to an engulfing passion.

Love is incredible.

Bright sunlight in my eyes wakes me from a short, but sweet sleep. He is nestled against me. His breathing is steady and peaceful. Such a beautiful sound. Slowly and quietly I disentangle myself from him and slip out of bed. I pick up his shirt from the floor and put it on, savoring the memory of slipping it from his shoulders a few hours earlier. I tiptoe out to the living room.

I am euphoric - like every molecule in my body is lit from inside. I feel somehow that I may have felt this way before, though I can't remember when.

One bit of anxiety gnaws at me - how will _he_ feel when he wakes up?

Oscar's apartment is a pleasant place. Not surprisingly, his tastes are kind of clean and modern looking, but it's comfy. There are piles of books and magazines (and government documents, of course) lying around in piles.

I pick up the phone and dial Callahan as I hunt for coffee in the kitchen cupboards.

"Good morning Mr. Goldman." she says in that funny, raspy voice.

"Callahan – it's Jaime."

"Jaime!?" she blurts back, shocked.

"Um, yeah. Oscar seems to have come down with some virus. I brought him home last night in pretty rough shape and I stayed to keep an eye on him. Does he have any incredibly important stuff on his plate today? Can he skip out?"

"Ah," she says, as she looks over his agenda, "not too bad. I think it can all wait. Is he okay? Do you think Rudy should take a look at him?"

"Well he seems better this morning. I'll call Rudy if it gets worse."

"Don't get sick yourself, huh?" she says. Is there a funny tone in her voice?

I put the coffee on, return to the bedroom and lie on the bed, propping myself on one elbow to look at him. He is just awake. "Wow," he says, taking my hand and holding it against his chest, "it's you."

"Expecting someone else?"

He shakes his head. His eyes run down the length of my body and back again. "It's just too good to be true, that's all. The most gorgeous woman I have ever seen in my entire life, lying on my bed." His expression is relaxed. "How are you?" he asks softly.

"Never felt better. And you?"

"Delirious."

I push my hand firmly through his hair.

"You know, I like this look on you. This unkempt-morning-after look."

"I hope you'll be seeing a lot more of it." We smile at each other. "Who were you talking to?" he asks, trustingly.

"Oh, I was just selling the state secrets you told me in your sleep to one or two petty third world dictators."

"That's nice." His smile widens.

"You're going to be mad at me. I called Callahan and told her you were sick. She said you don't have anything really critical to deal with today, and I told her you wouldn't be coming in."

"You _what_?!" His eyes blaze slightly before turning softly reproachful. "Wow. Well, since I'm so sick I guess I won't make that appointment with the Secretary of State today."

It's my turn to be astonished. "You were going to...?"

"I decided you're right. I am chicken." He turns on his side to look at me more directly. "I have to be honest with you Jaime. I'm terrified of losing my job. It's defined me for so long I'm afraid I would cease to exist without it. But you are right. I need to make changes, even if they're forced on me. I've been resisting it for a long time." He clears his throat. "For one thing I need to spend more energy grooming…" he scrunches his face up and groans "…Russ… as a proper second in command, so I can trust him to handle your assignments."

I am astonished again. "Do you really think you can do that?"

"Not without sedatives. But I'll have to try."

"Poor, poor, Russ."

"Yeah, I almost feel sorry for him myself. I also suspect" he adds, "that I'll need to adjust my work schedule so I can spend more time in California, if you know what I mean."

I can't believe he's saying these words. It's almost more than I could have hoped for. I nod enthusiastically, mute with amazement.

"If I take certain steps, the Secretary may be persuaded that I haven't lost my mind completely. But it could get really rocky. Just be patient with me, okay?"

"You're amazing." I say, leaning in to kiss him, my heart full.

"Now listen," he says briskly, interrupting the kiss, "since my first plans are shot, I have a new plan for the day".

"Really." I say, shocked, and not entirely pleased at the thought of "plans".

"Yup. I'm a planning kind of guy. So since I can't go to work, I'm thinking maybe it was time I cleaned out my wardrobe."

"What?!" I splutter.

He is clearly playing me. I just can't tell how. "Yeah, it's really time." He says, earnestly.

Suddenly the mirth disappears from his brown eyes. He runs his fingers across my lips, along my cheek and down my throat. Desire flares through me. He moves his fingers downward over my breastbone to work at the button of the shirt I'm wearing. "Starting with this shirt. It has really got to go."

"Mmm. You're right. That is a good plan." I murmur as our lips meet.


End file.
